


Oh So Pleasant

by Ornament_of_Rhyme



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hopkins doesn't give a damn about any of it as long as no one lays a hand on Spaz or his malt, It's okay he's rich he has pocket change, M/M, Meet-Cute, My friend the witch doctor he told me to throw some shade at the Chipmunks, Neil Never Attended Welton, Neil thinks too hard about not thinking too hard, No matter the universe Neil will always feel compelled to look out for Todd, Romance, Stick is the DJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ornament_of_Rhyme/pseuds/Ornament_of_Rhyme
Summary: It was common knowledge that Neil's classmates at Ridgeway High had a particular distaste for Welton Academy. At least, he thought it was common knowledge, but that was before three boys wandered onto Ridgeway turf with Welton written all over them.
Relationships: Hopkins/Spaz (Dead Poets Society), Todd Anderson/Neil Perry
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	Oh So Pleasant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buffy Mary and Whitney](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Buffy+Mary+and+Whitney).



> Come in, and know me better, man! Happy Christmas and other culturally valuable holidays to you! This is not a Christmas themed story, but it is a gift.
> 
> **But first, for the readers, this is the part of the A/N you NEED to read: In this story Spaz is known as Gilbert “Spaz” Braun, Hopkins is Edwin Hopkins, and Stick is Norman “Stick” James.**
> 
> Now, with a love I cannot express in words over the internet, I want to dedicate this story to three women who have been my dearest friends for a long time now--at least it feels like a long time. Whitney, my big sister; Mary, my precious second heart; and Buffy, who has been the warm hand on my shoulder during a year of loss and moving around outside of my comfort zone. The three of you have offered me support and comfort in all the time I've known you, and I wish there was a way for you to see how invaluable your impacts on my life have been. This year I am the healthiest I've ever been mentally, and that is in significant part thanks to you. All of you. Unfortunately, I have been particularly absent this year because my mental health journey does have some more to go. I regret all the conversations we've been unable to have, and all the exciting or awful things you've been experiencing that I haven't been around to hear about. I've missed so much in your lives. I've missed YOU. Even still, you have been pillars of strength for me all this time. The culmination of all your love, companionship, emotional support, and damn good wisdom has built up the Az who, one year ago, could hardly leave the house, and today has just completed her first ever seasonal job. I wouldn't be at this point without you. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Someday, I want to repay you all of the love and support and, God willing, wisdom, that you have bestowed upon me. I still don't have traditionally large life goals, but that's sure as hell one goal I can get behind. Until then, while I am still weak and collared by anxiety, I offer you as much of me as I can give, as well as this story.
> 
> It's damn sappy, though perhaps not as much as this note.

For all the spitting disdain with which his classmates at Ridgeway spoke of Welton, one would expect the reason _why_ to be common knowledge. To Neil's unending astonishment, this wasn't the case, otherwise he would have put together the animosity's origin years ago. It certainly wasn't for lack of trying, and with graduation less than eight months away, it was becoming apparent that he would step into adulthood without the answer. A lost cause, he knew, but that didn't stop him wondering.

They talked like the Welton boys were arrogant rich kids who turned up their noses at everyone they deemed beneath them. Sure, that probably fit the description of some boys at Welton, but it also described at least a few kids at Ridgeway, too. Not to mention that every time Neil saw a Welton boy around town, they acted like any other teen he knew. Privately, he would go so far as to say they kept to themselves better than Neil's own classmates. If the murmurings he heard about “Hellton's” strict rules were correct, they probably considered the outings an escape from the pressure of the school—so why mess around and risk having their leash shortened further?

Granted, he may have been less inclined to judge the Welton students because he came close to being one. As early as infancy, his father had been determined to send Neil to Welton Academy. The man was a hard worker, but never more so than the first several years of Neil’s life. He worked tirelessly, trying to save up the money necessary to put Neil through school at the academy, but after Neil’s mother faced a series of hospitalizations, the bills took too much away from those savings. Even with a scholarship, it was beyond their means.

His father had been far more upset about sending Neil to public school than the boy himself ever was. At that age, little Neil was just glad his mom would recover and return home.

His classmates didn't share this pseudo-history with Welton, however. Whatever created their bias against Welton, it was substantial enough to stick for over a decade, because he remembered hearing about it as far back as second grade. It wasn’t uncommon to catch wind of an argument that broke out between students of either school. Emboldened by the grudge of the upper-classmen, even pre-teen students were known to get into it with their young Welton counterparts from time to time.

Tussles were infrequent, but not unheard of. Like anyone else, the temper of the Welton boys had its limits. Some were easier to set off than others. Some, Neil once observed from a safe distance, leaned into it, content to use the fights as a release for pent-up emotions.

Idiotic as it would be, he suspected the bad blood came from a lost game of some kind—a big one—because the Ridgeway jocks were always the most eager, the most heated. It was either a loss, or the Ridgeway athletic scene happened to be consistently comprised of guys dumb enough to get into it with kids who had the money and connections to see their futures ruined.

It wasn't until Freshman year that Neil tuned in to the signals bullies used to so effortlessly find Welton kids in public. For a long time, it seemed as though they possessed a supernatural ability to do so. Yeah, Welton guys had an inclination toward black slacks instead of jeans, and blazers instead of flannels, but it wasn't as if Ridgeway lacked kids with similar tastes. Neil himself was no stranger to the style.

But it wasn't the slacks or the blazers that gave them away. It wasn't even the shined-up shoes. Over time, he concluded that there were three major tells:

First was the Welton athletic sweater; the most obvious sign, what with its bright red fabric and the fat _W_ stamped on the chest. Weltoners must have finally put together that wearing it in town was something of a literal red flag, because Neil hadn't seen one around in ages.

The second tell was the tie. Their ties were black and red, the Welton colors, alternating in diagonal stripes. Very overt, especially considering their shirts were almost always white.

Last was the coat. Long, heavy, and black with a swath of scarlet lining the inner hood. They closed with light-colored loops and wooden catches. There wasn’t anything else quite like it.

The guys who dressed like that were easy to spot, and eventually Neil, too, developed the ability to pick them out of a crowd with relative ease.

Right now, for example, he was looking at three of them from the other end of the counter.

He found them right away, too. One minute he was humming along to Connie Francis while Barney whipped up the root beer float he ordered, and the next the bells on the door tinkled. Instinct flicked Neil's idle stare over to the source, only for his attention to sharpen on the three Welton boys who wandered in.

They ticked all the boxes. Two had Welton ties around their necks, and one even had the coat draped over his arm. The third must not have received the memo, because a red athletic sweater was knotted around his waist. The big white _W_ faced outward behind him.

Neil surveyed the other diners, most of whom were kids and teens. Fortunately, none of them cared about the trio, which eased his tensing muscles. He wasn't sure those boys would be able to handle themselves if someone tried to make a scene.

Two of them were scrawny, for one; one of them blonde and the other a brunette, both sporting a pair of spectacles. With a handkerchief fisted up at his side, ready to be made useful, it appeared that the brunette was already engaged in a more internal battle. Neil wished he could believe Danbury and his lackeys wouldn't pick on a sick kid if they were around, but he knew better. On his own, Chet Danbury wasn't the worst guy in the world, but those buddies of his brought a meanness out of Chet that disqualified him from the benefit of the doubt.

The last of the three boys had a slightly sturdier build than his friends, but there was a keen vulnerability about him that made Neil particularly concerned. He seemed to be fine, safe and with friends, but his shoulders were both stiff and bent at the same time, like they were made to bear a great weight for far too long. Even still, the corner of his mouth hooked up at something the blonde said. It was feeble, nearly uncomfortable, yet also managed to look genuine, and his friends either didn't notice or were accustomed to the dichotomy.

Neil caught sight of the boy's teeth when the blonde cracked another joke and gave him a friendly shove. He chuckled along with his friends, ducking so his honey brown hair skirted below his brow.

It wasn’t until a float arrived at his elbow with a glass clink and a jolly, “Here you are, Mr. Perry,” from Barney, that Neil caught himself staring. He shook off the distraction long enough to thank the man and take a drink. With sparkling soda suds sizzling across his tongue, he peered back at the boys. The two smaller ones were leaving for the restroom while the third boy stayed behind. The guy's underlying discomfort from before intensified considerably without them.

Neil studied the boy, trying to decide if prodding him into a chat would make things better or worse. Probably worse, he suspected, but part of him didn’t want to accept that answer. He chewed on that cycle of indecision until the door bells chimed again.

In the end, spotting Ridgeway varsity jackets on the two incoming customers was what Neil needed to make up his mind. He didn't pause to see who the jackets belonged to before he was off his bar stool, asking Barney for another float as he hustled over to the Welton boy that hovered on his own. Though the boy glanced up at the door bells, he didn't react, unaware that those were predators prowling into the diner.

He knew the jocks spotted the Welton student when one let out a menacing chuckle. Neil reached for the improvisational skills he had been honing in drama class.

With less grace than he would have liked, he rounded the boy, coming to lean on the counter beside him. Neil beamed, and when those startled grey eyes landed on him, he didn’t need to force it.

“Barn said he'll have yours ready soon,” Neil told him. Honestly, he wasn't certain Barney heard his request at all, what with the speed he was going when he made it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two Ridgeway athletes closing in, so he plowed forward without context or explanation, hoping the Welton boy would play along.

“Anyway,” Neil began, picking up the tread of a conversation that never happened, “I actually convinced my parents to go out and see _Harvey_ with me, and you know what my father said?” By now the Welton boy's brows were drawn so close it was starting to look painful, but Neil continued in a bitter echo of his father's tone, _“'I know what you're playing at, Neil. It's that acting nonsense again, isn't it? A waste of time and—'“_

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Perry?”

Neil looked up. “Hmm? Oh, hey.” There was a nervous pit growing in his gut, the pace of which sped up with loss of his anonymity. He could only hope it didn't show, but he had never been good at hiding the heart on his sleeve.

The two guys had familiar faces, but he couldn't place them. Not seniors, then. He was familiar enough with his student cohort that his brain would have dug up some names if they were part of it.

Knowing he had seniority, even a small amount, let him regain some ground with a boost of confidence. If they knew who he was, they must have known this as well. Neil wasn’t one to play the Senior Card, but if ever there was a perfect time to use it, this would be it.

With that information tucked away, he maintained his mellow lean against the counter. “’Enemy?’ You just missed him.” He jerked his head toward the door. “He put The Chipmunks on the jukebox at least four times.” This, unfortunately, was true, but Neil was lucky enough to have arrived halfway through the last play, and only overheard a couple of girls griping about the first three.

One of the jocks made a face at the mention of The Chipmunks, while the other snapped, “I'm talking about the Welton snob.”

The Welton boy paled, and Neil felt the urge to step forward; put an extra layer between him and the threat. He knew it would be more likely to set off the jocks, however, so he forced himself to maintain a casual stance.

“He’s no snob,” Neil said. “We were just having a nice conversation.” The latter may have been a fib, but looking at the boy scared stiff beside him, Neil doubted anyone else in the great wide world had ever been so willfully ignorant as to label him a snob.

“We're not stupid, Perry,” piped up the other jock. “I saw you run over. Why’re you sticking up for this rat?”

Caught out, Neil finally straightened. The pit in his stomach redoubled its growth. “Why are you mad at him?” he countered. “C'mon, he's not hurting anyone. He's here for a pop, just like us.”

"He's not welcome here,” grunted the first one.

"I don't know, I think Barney appreciates paying customers, no matter where they learned chemistry." As he said so, Neil saw the other two Welton boys come out of the bathroom. They stopped short of the scene, wide-eyed behind their glasses. Neil hoped they would stay back there. The fewer variables involved, the better. The fewer potential _victims_ , the better.

In fact, it occurred to him, there was one person in particular who the two jocks may actually feel guilty about making into collateral damage...

Before his schoolmates could grind out another retort, Neil ducked his head, making it clear he intended to speak of private matters. The others, curious, craned near—he could even sense the Welton boy at his side moving ever-so-slightly closer.

"Listen,” he said in a half-whisper, “Scaring off customers is hurting Barney more than anyone. You've heard about the new ice cream parlor downtown. Half the school's gone nuts over it. Barn needs all the support he can get now."

Wielding Barney's financial woes as a shield left a sour taste in his mouth, but it wasn't necessarily a great secret that the new hangout spot was a threat to Barn’s business. Not to mention the ice cream parlor owned one of those flashy Bubbler jukeboxes that everyone went gaga over. It was hard to blame them for it, too. Neil had seen a Bubbler once while visiting relatives across the state; the technicolor tubes were a mesmerizing display.

The jocks were ready to argue, but Neil said, “Look around and tell me the crowd wasn't twice this size before the parlor opened.”

Unbelievably, they did look around. Everyone stepped out of the loose huddle they had formed, and Neil held his breath.

Finally, the two jocks exchanged a glance. Their hackles were raised, but when they turned back to Neil and the Welton boy, it was only to show off their ugliest sneers; their most threatening glowers.

And then they walked away. No last words spat—no promises of 'next time' made. They merely skulked out, reeking of thinly repressed contempt.

He wanted to crow and cry at the same time, but that might have proven to be the last straw for the grey-eyed Welton boy, and Neil really didn't want to scare him off.

Once soon as the varsity jackets were out of sight, even the air in the room went loose, but the Welton boy wasn’t so relieved. His face was wan, his hands faintly trembling, and so Neil led him by the arms until he half-sat against the nearest bar stool.

“It's alright, pal,” he said. The boy nodded despite looking like he might be sick on the tile.

“Who was that?”

Neil followed the sound to discover the other Welton boys had joined them. He'd been so wrapped up in the grey-eyed boy, he forgot they were there.

“What happened?” the blonde one spoke again.

“Lucky for all of us, nothing happened,” Neil said with a friendly grimace. “Lots of guys from Ridgeway High have it out for Welton kids. I'm surprised you didn't know.”

“This is the first time we've been allowed to leave the grounds on our own. Senior privileges,” said the blonde. “We got a whole pamphlet of rules to follow, but nothing warned us about _that_.” He jerked his thumb at the door.

“Thanks for stopping them,” he added.

“Sure. Right place, right time, I guess.” Even as everything settled, Neil felt the need to be a sentry at the grey-eyed boy's side until he could collect himself. “I saw them coming and wanted to make sure they didn't start anything.”

“How did you know we're from Welton?” asked the brunette with the handkerchief.

His lips twisted with sympathy. “The uniform.”

The trio looked down at their clothes.

This seemed to help the grey-eyed boy get his bearings, and with a _whoos_ hing sigh, he set about unknotting his necktie.

Neil couldn’t wait to meet the person beneath all that anxiety. Why it was so important, he didn't know, but it had him holding out his hand to the boy and saying, “I'm Neil Perry.”

The boy actually looked up at him. Their eyes met for an instant before the boy's slid to the side. He stood, stuffing the tie into his pocket with one hand as he shook Neil's with the other. “Todd—“ He cleared his throat, and his eyes flicked back up to Neil's face. “Todd Anderson. Uh. Thanks. For getting rid of them.” He didn’t speak much quieter than anyone else, but there was a cottony brush to the edges of his voice. It brought to mind the touch of warm flannel.

Neil really did like the feeling of warm flannel, now that he thought about it.

The blonde followed Todd’s lead. “Norm James.”

“I’m Gilbert Braun. Gil,” volunteered the brunette.

_Thunk!_

Todd and Neil flinched at the sound. Behind them, something had hit the counter hard. They shared a look of rattled amusement.

When they turned, Barney, the proud culprit, declared, “Another root beer float for Mr. Perry!” He gestured to one masterpiece of a beverage. It was downright picturesque, like artwork off the cover of a cookbook. “On the house for keeping the riff-raff under control.”

“Gosh. Are you sure?”

The man waved away his modesty. “Keep shooing them away from the Welton kids, and I'll make you more floats than you can stomach.”

Neil snorted. He thanked the man, already on his way to serve someone else, and sent up a silent prayer that he would never again find himself under the livid stare of a Ridgeway jock. He knew better than to believe he would come out on top of a similar encounter with the senior athletes; hell, he couldn’t be certain that the two guys from a few minutes ago weren't already planning their revenge. A million free pops weren't worth whatever that path had in store for him.

With a side-long glance at Todd Anderson, he decided he was content with this one exception.

Neil swiped the free float off the bar and pressed it into Todd's hand. “Here, this one's yours.” Todd opened his mouth, already shaking his head in refusal, but Neil held up his own drink. “I've already got one, see?”

After a moment of hesitation, Todd thanked him and accepted it. He squinted curiously at the liquid inside the glass. “What did he say it was?”

“A root beer float. Haven't you ever had one?” He would have expected the drink to speak for itself—brown and bubbly with generous scoops of vanilla ice cream melting in the middle—a float in its purest form.

Todd shook his head.

“Never? You're kidding.”

“No. I mean, I've had root beer...” God help him, Todd was _ashamed_.

That was... wrong. Neil wasn't okay with that—least of all when it was his fault.

He changed course. "Well, do you like root beer?"

"Y-yeah. Yes.” There was a flicker of agitation in Todd's expression; frustrated with his stutter, Neil surmised. It didn’t bother him, but he figured Todd would be even more embarrassed if attention were drawn to it, even if it was a simple reassurance.

So Neil continued, “Do you like vanilla?”

“Yes.” Amusement crept into the angles of Todd’s eyes and mouth and brows.

“How about ice cream?”

“Yes!” He might have sounded genuinely exasperated were it not for his chuckling. “Who doesn't?”

Finally, Neil asked, “And do you enjoy being happy?”

This time Todd loosed a real laugh, baffled, and open, and entirely caused by Neil. Why did that make him so proud?

“What kind of question is that?” Todd said. “Of course!” His eyes squinted a little with his simile. It was as if the whole of him lit up; so different from the taciturn boy he met only minutes ago.

Nothing could dampen Neil's answering grin. “Great! You'll love it.”

“Well, hey,” Norm slipped in, and it was nearly as startling as when Barney slapped down that float. Once again, Neil had become so focused on Todd that the presence of the other two faded into the background. Norm's expression suggested that he was well aware of this. Thankfully, the blonde spoke noting of it, and continued, “Wanna come sit with us?”

“That'd be great.” Exactly _why_ it was so well-and-truly great, he didn't understand. He only wanted to help the awkward Welton student out of a tight spot, right? Why was Neil so invested in getting to know him? The more he pushed himself for answers, the less he wanted to examine it. So he didn't. He did want to avoid being a nuisance, however; he turned to Todd and said, “If you're okay with that.”

Todd shrugged, but the corner of his mouth was still tilted up. “How could I say no? You probably just saved my life.”

The deliberate exaggeration got a delighted laugh from Neil. “I don't think they would have gone that far.” After a beat, he added, “But do you want to?”

“'Want to', what?”

“Say no.”

That tiny quirk in Todd's lips grew into a proper smilet. “No.”

With each new word passed between them, Neil's heart thumped harder. Todd's playing along was doing weird things to it, and even with the niggling urge to understand _why_ everything was suddenly so stimulating, he couldn't find any part of himself that was actually bothered by it.

“I'll take that as a yes then,” Neil declared.

“Yes to which one?”

“The one where I get to sit with you.”

Norm and Gil were still watching their interaction closely, but it only added to the expanding list of things Neil didn't give a damn about right then. He was having a ball.

Regretfully, Todd cottoned on to their audience as well, and his mirth waned. Still, he said, “You should. Join us, I mean.”

Something passed over Norm's expression as he looked between the two of them, and Neil couldn't identify what it meant. It left in its wake an equally confounding smirk.

Norm clamped onto Gil's skinny shoulders and began to push. "Why don’t you guys snag us a seat? I want to check out the menu. Burgers still sound good, Todd?” he called over his shoulder as he steered Gil toward the register. They were out of earshot before Todd could reply.

“Where do you want to sit?”

Todd picked an empty booth next to one of the windows, smartly pointing out the tree outside whose branches could block most of the early-autumn sun from their eyes. The weak springs inside the seats sank low and bounced as they slid into their places across from each other. Neil knew these benches well, and privately hoped Todd found them as comfortably cushy as he did.

Set into the wall beside them was a chrome-plated Seeburg 200 Wall-O-Matic remote jukebox controller. One hung at each booth, all polished-up prettier than the day Barney had them installed. Those controllers brought the man much pride, especially in the face of the Bubbler downtown.

It was a show-stealer. The two of them spent a few minutes flipping through the song listings, commenting here and there on the ones they liked, loved, and couldn't stand. Smirking at a blithe comment from Todd about his shared sentiments toward The Chipmunks, Neil went for a sip of his drink, only to remember the important mission they had neglected to follow up on.

“Hey, did you ever try your float?”

Like he was waking from a trance, Todd drew back from the Wall-O-Matic blinking the stain of song titles from his vision. Neil couldn’t help snickering. It was easy to get caught up looking through the listings when you’ve flipped through them a hundred times before, let alone when you’re perusing them for the first time.

“No, not yet,” Todd answered. He wrapped his hand around the glistening condensation on his own glass. Neil waited as Todd took a steady pull from the straw, then paused to let the aftertaste hit.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, Neil asked, “So? How is it?”

“It’s definitely root beer with ice cream in it.”

_“And?”_

“It’s pretty good,” Todd decided. He took another drink, and there was a gleam in his eye as he followed it with, “But does it really make me happy?”

He was teasing. Neil knew he was teasing, and he was thrilled about it, and yet when he replied, it was a little too earnest. “What would make you happy, then?”

Todd sat back with a shrug. “To be honest…” His gaze shifted between Neil and the bright yellow leaves on the tree outside. At length, he said, “I think I’m already pretty happy right now.” More than hearing the admission, Neil was struck by how surprised Todd looked as he made it.

Eyes on the leaves again, a pleased little smile crossed Todd’s lips. Neil stared. He couldn’t tell what exactly happened, but he sensed it was significant. If only he knew the boy well enough to understand why.

Amicable instinct told him to comment with a, _‘That’s great,’_ or _‘I’m glad to hear it,’_ but he feared it would ruin Todd’s moment. Instead, he forced himself to look away; determined he would wait for Todd to speak.

When those grey eyes fell on him next, there was a puzzled knit to Todd’s brows. “What is it you were talking about before?”

“Hmm?” Having been fidgeting with his straw, Neil came back to himself with a smear of vanilla foam on his thumb. He licked it away.

Todd shifted in his seat. “B-before those guys came over.”

It took Neil a moment to recall. “Oh, _Harvey_!”

"Yeah." Todd leaned forward a little, folding his arms on the table. “Who is that?”

“Harvey? He’s a six-foot, three-and-a-half-inch invisible rabbit," said Neil. "Well, he’s a pooka, actually. But he looks like a rabbit.”

He could only look at Todd’s stupefied face for a few seconds before falling into a fit of giggles. “It’s a movie!”

A moment later, Todd was laughing with him. “That makes a lot more sense,” he said upon catching his breath. “You should have started with that.”

When they calmed, Todd asked again, “So what were you saying before, when you brought that up? It sounded…”

_I know what you’re playing at, Neil. It’s that acting nonsense again, isn’t it? A waste of time and money; a waste of your future. You’re too old for this fantasy, Neil! It will take you nowhere! We agreed you could take that drama class, but if you continue to entertain this delusion of fame, I will be forced to remove you from the roster. Don’t argue with me. It’s for your own good._

Neil felt a scowl twist his mouth for only an instant before he cleared the expression. “Heavy?” he suggested. In truth, those words, his father’s threat, was a broken record that had been replaying in his head for a couple of weeks now, but he’d not spoken to anyone about them before today.

Todd must have caught his bitter moue because he went from sober to solemn. Instead of asking Neil to finish the broken sentence from before, Todd said, “Does it bother you that he didn’t like the movie? Your dad.”

Unbidden, Neil scoffed, and hoped Todd didn’t think it was meant for him. “Father’s never cared about films or… anything creative, really.” He reached out to fiddle with the pepper shaker. “But… I knew that when I convinced him to watch it. I guess I thought it was so good, even he wouldn’t be able to deny it. Maybe then he would see that acting, and filmmaking—all those things—aren’t a waste of time.”

As he explained, a traitorous part of him began to fear that Todd might agree with his father, or would passively suggest he put it out of his mind; pick another pursuit that he likes just as much—something sensible. But Todd only expressed sympathy, even with the bitter purse to his lips; bitterness not directed at Neil, but felt on his behalf. Possibly on his own behalf as well. It made him wonder what Todd’s parents were like.

Before he could decide whether or not to ask, Todd commented, “Those things must mean a lot to you.”

“They do.” Neil brightened a little. “Film, theatre—acting is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Todd sucked in a sharp breath. “You were in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ last Winter. You were Puck.”

Amazing that talking to this boy could pitch Neil from goofy to serious to excited so rapidly, with scarcely any whiplash between.

He lit up. “Yeah! It was my first role. How did you know?”

“We saw it.” Todd made a vague gesture, indicating his friends across the diner. “It was incredible.”

Outside of drama class, few others had mentioned the play to Neil, even less so after the production was finished. To have it acknowledged all these months later, especially out in the wild— _especially by Todd_ —was like hearing the ovation all over again.

He tethered himself to Earth with one foot hooked around a table leg. “If only I’d been able to get a better look at the audience, I might recognize you, too.”

“I doubt it. It was packed. There’s no way you could remember all those faces.”

Todd was probably right, but still, “It feels like everything about that night was burned into my memory.” _Even the things I don’t want to remember._ Each time it surfaced, he shoved the memory of that awful post-performance argument with his father to the back of his mind with a firm, _It’s over. You got what you wanted for now._

Neil cleared his throat before adding, “Even the part where I almost poked my eye out with my—uh—Puck’s twig gloves.”

Todd snickered. “I forgot about that.”

“It happened so often during rehearsal, I guess it was destined to make it into the show.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Todd. “If _I_ forgot it happened, I doubt anyone else remembers.”

His phrasing gave Neil pause. “What do you mean?”

Todd visibly replayed what he said. As he caught up to Neil’s question, he straightened, blinking in shock.

“I me—I just meant—“ Todd’s face went pink, and he wouldn’t look at Neil anymore. “You were the—the star of the show, so I was watching you more than the others. I mean, they were good, but you…”

“You thought I stood out?”

This got Todd to look at him. “Well, yeah,” he said, like it was a no-brainer.

Never in his life had Neil reacted to praise with unbridled bashfulness, but Todd Anderson, it seemed, was capable of making him experience all sorts of new feelings.

Neil’s gaze dropped to his thumbs running over the ridges of the pepper shaker. He released a breathy laugh. “Careful. You’ll give me a movie star’s ego before I’m famous enough to get away with it.”

“What are you getting away with?”

The interruption was punctuated by a scarlet red basket of fries that slid across the table. Norm and Gil had arrived, bearing two baskets of wrapped burgers, and second piled with fries.

Neil hated to say farewell to his moment with Todd, but at least he knew how to change with the tempo. He replied with an easy, “Stealing your lunch, maybe.”

Gil chuckled into his handkerchief. He hesitated to take the seat beside Neil, but Neil’s welcoming smile successfully put him at ease. He settled in and returned the gesture.

As for Norm, his mouth was stuffed with fries before he even sat down. “Heff you’sef,” he puffed.

While appreciative, Neil had no intention of mooching off them, rich kids or otherwise... Those fries did smell heavenly, though...

Norm dropped into the bench across from Gil, making the leathery cover creak under the indelicacy. Todd, made to bounce with it, playfully elbowed his friend in retaliation.

Except it’s hard to properly elbow someone when you’re already crammed up against them from shoulder to hip.

The booths were on the smaller side, especially with four gangly young men trying to pack into them. Having Gil so near didn’t bother Neil in the least, but as Norm squeezed in next to Todd, he regretted not claiming that spot for himself. That just as easily could have been his side pressing into Todd’s.

The workings of Neil’s mind screeched to a halt, calling for him to pay attention to his thoughts. Now stronger than before, an urge came lapping at his consciousness like a tide of turbid water, insisting he stop and contemplate why he was reacting to Todd with such intensity.

He couldn’t tell how cloudy the water was, or how deep it went, and he was willing to let it stay that way if it meant continuing to enjoy his time with Todd and the others.

Once more, he clamped down on that urge, and attempted to ground himself by snacking on fries. No one batted an eye at his thieving. In fact, Todd just poked the basket closer to him.

Now with the other boys there, Todd and Neil’s chatting gave way to a more mild conversation between the four of them. As they ate and talked, Neil became certain that Welton was full of regular teenage boys. Like Todd, Norm and Gil treated Neil like a new friend, and if he didn’t already know better, he would have assumed their lives were as ordinary as his. Of course, he supposed, to them their lives probably felt pretty ordinary. If only his classmates could see how much they had in common.

In the middle of a debate between Gil and Norm about some new sci-fi series, the door bells chimed. Neil’s guard had fallen; he wouldn't have noticed the bells had Norm not perked up and waved at whoever entered. When he peered over his shoulder, Neil saw another boy headed their way. He was stocky—an athlete, without a doubt—and frowning.

Neil felt a flare of protectiveness, thinking that the newcomer was another jock, albeit one he didn’t recognize in the least. This alarm didn’t last long, however, as it clicked that Norm was happy to see him, and that Gil was happier still, in his own calm way. A glance at Todd told Neil that he held no outward qualms with the new guy either. Another Welton student, then. Neil noted that this boy wasn’t wearing any Welton giveaways, instead opting for a simple white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black pants.

The first thing out of the boy’s mouth when he reached the table was directed at Neil. “Who’re you?”

“This is Neil,” Gil said before he could answer for himself, and maybe it was best he heard it from Gil first, because the guy listened to him intently. “He got us out of a tough spot earlier. Neil, this is Edwin.”

With a suspicious eye on Neil, Edwin stole a free-standing chair from a table not far away and dragged it over to the end of their booth. He nudged it closer to Gil before sitting down.

“Nice to meet you,” Neil offered, and he was sure he would mean it once the tension diffused. If both Todd and Gil liked him, two of the meekest people Neil had ever met, then he must not have been a bad guy. He tried not to fault Edwin for his wariness. After all, Neil was ready to get equally defensive only moments ago.

“What’d he do?” Edwin asked Gil.

“Got rid of some bullies,” Norm said around the burger poised between his teeth. Then he took a bite larger than his mouth should have been able to accommodate.

A grim shadow passed over Edwin’s expression. “Ridgeway guys?”

“Yupf.”

“I told you not to wear your uniforms,” Edwin said to his friends.

Norm swallowed his mouthful before saying, “We’ll try not to cramp your style.” He was joking, but Edwin certainly wasn’t.

“I told you,” Edwin insisted, “our uniforms are like blood in the water, and they’re the sharks. You can’t wear those in town.”

Neil caught a glimpse of Gil placing a hand on Edwin’s knee under the table, squeezing gently. “It’s my fault. I was too excited about today, and forgot to warn them. I’m sorry.” He turned to Todd. “Especially to you, Todd, since you were the target.”

Most of the aggravation drained out of Edwin, and he set his sights on Neil, assessing. Ultimately, he decided Neil wasn’t a threat, and extended a hand to him. “Thanks. I’ve heard enough from Dalton about what those guys think of us.”

“Dalton plays it up, Ed,” Norm said. “You know how he is.”

Neil met Edwin’s handshake. “I’m glad I was there to help.” _Truly._ He fought not to look over at Todd.

The air settled once more, everyone placated. For the most part, anyway. A minute later, Neil picked up on a murmur from Edwin to Gil. “Anyone try roughin’ you up?”

Neil tried not to spy, but his traitorous eyes strayed as close as they dared. He saw Gil shake his head, and Edwin nod to himself. He was obviously still troubled, but when Gil shuffled a basket of burgers his way, it got him out of his head.

Apparently Gil’s offer for food also applied to his malt, because Edwin didn’t hesitate to stick in a second straw, heedless of Gil being in the middle of a gulp. Gil’s brows jumped, but otherwise he gave no sign of being bothered.

The fringes of their hair mingled as Edwin ducked in to take a long pull. For a lot of guys, that would have crossed a line; maybe earned someone a brotherly shove off their chair, if the two were on good enough terms. Gil didn’t shove him. Gil didn’t do anything but give a half-hearted eyeroll—even when Edwin went on to tilt his head just so, grazing the tips of their noses together. Neil tried not to gawk as he did it again, at once bold and subtle.

That’s when Neil saw Edwin’s eyes. They gazed at Gil with such unbridled fondness that, finally, Neil ripped his eyes away.

His face was a little too warm, and his heart drummed a little too hard. Despite all the other people in the room, Neil felt like he had intruded on something incredibly private.

As he tried to gather himself, he looked across at Todd. He didn’t have to wonder if Todd had seen it too, because the other boy was very deliberately staring through the napkin dispenser as he sipped at his float.

No, not sipping; there was nothing moving through the straw. Still, he kept his lips pursed around it—a dark pink cupid’s bow amidst a light scatter of acne scars—which was a sight Neil found curiously captivating. Why? He had seen people drink from straws all his life and never spared a thought for the vision they made. Maybe it was the addition of the color creeping up Todd’s neck, or how his lashes fanned out over his low stare. Maybe it was that his hair tinted copper where sunlight snuck through the gaps in the tree leaves.

Maybe anyone would have stopped to admire Todd in that moment, he reasoned with himself; anyone might have felt their stomach tremble with a pleasantly nervous energy…

The turbid waters roiled in his mind, and if turning his attention to Todd was meant to steady Neil’s heart, it was a failed mission indeed.

Before he could dredge up the will to face away, a stray question made him falter: would Todd share a drink with someone if they looked at him like Edwin looked at Gil?

As if the question were posed aloud, Todd’s eyes rose up to lock with his across the table.

Live wires galvanized within Neil’s ribcage, sparking, popping wildly—a dazzling sensation, even when those stone grey eyes fluttered and broke away. Todd shivered; maybe he felt it, too. His blush bloomed like dye as he abandoned his straw.

Neil caught another glimpse of the deprecating frustration Todd showed toward himself earlier, when he was struggling with his stutter. Such a shame he was so critical of himself. Neil couldn’t imagine what Todd thought he did to deserve it.

Whatever he was thinking, Todd made a visible effort to lock it away before he looked over again—and when he did, it was to leave Neil speechless with an endearingly modest smile.

For the first time in his life, Neil wished he’d made it into Welton.

Indifferent to the air charging between them, an arm cut in—Norm’s arm, to be precise. He flipped through a few pages on the Wall-O-Matic before inserting a dime and punching in his selection. Neil tried to ignore the disappointment leaking into his belly.

Norm, for his part, was pleased as pie. He timed his selection almost perfectly: Fats Domino wrapped up _Blueberry Hill_ , and then the jukebox across the room swapped out the record. Before they knew it, Elvis Presley was moaning about being _All Shook Up_.

_A well-a bless my soul_

_What’s-a wrong with me?_

_I’m itchin’ like a man in a fuzzy tree,_

_My friends say I’m actin’ wild as a bug_

_I’m in love_

_I’m all shook up_

Norm was staring hard at Todd.

“What?” Todd said over Elvis’ ‘ _yeah-yeah-yeah_ s. Norm only waggled his eyebrows.

_Well, my hands are shaky and my knees are weak_

_I can't seem to stand on my own two feet_

“What? What is it?”

_Who do you think of when you have such luck?_

_I'm in love_

_I'm all shook up_

Neil watched Norm try to convey a silent message to Todd.

_Well please don’t ask me what’s on my mind_

_I’m a little mixed up, but I’m feelin’ fine_

Finally, Neil put it together when Norm cast a meaningful glance at the Wall-O-Matic.

_When I’m near that girl that I love best_

_My heart beats so it scares me to death!_

Steady and unrelenting, the revelation asserted itself—Double date. Double date! _Double date!_

Norm was dedicating a love song to Todd. Edwin was sharing drinks with Gil. And Neil… Neil was an intruder. He had inserted himself into their double date.

Neil gripped the seat until his fingers protested and his nails left crescents in the upholstery. An ache like grief pulsed right into his core. It was as though he had received a gift, precious, priceless, only to be told it was meant for someone else all along.

Then there was the jealousy, just as visceral. It was a viper writhing in his stomach, hissing, injecting him with venom at the mere idea of someone else having that kind of relationship with Todd.

He stopped short at that. Why did it matter to him who Todd dated?

As if it were waiting for such a query, that impatient sea in his mind swallowed him up. He might have drowned in it, overwhelmed by what it threatened to teach him about himself, but one thing took rapid shape, and the more he pursued that line of thinking, the clearer it became. The waters parted so he could focus on it alone:

He was head over heels for Todd Anderson.

It may as well have been stamped onto his brain matter, because it was all he could think.

_My tongue gets tied when I try to speak_

_My insides shake like a leaf on a tree_

_There's only one cure for this body of mine_

_That's to have that girl that I love so fine!_

At last, Todd caught on to Norm’s insinuation. He gaped at Norm like a frightened animal, then flushed harder than ever and turned his head away. Neil watched it through half-aware eyes.

The world came back into sharp focus when Todd, tentative, shy, and rosy-cheeked, glanced up at Neil. Todd was gauging his reaction, Neil realized. And the look in his eye—

Well, Todd hadn’t looked at Norm like that at all; like his reaction mattered. He didn’t care what Norm thought. He cared what _Neil_ thought.

As dazed as Neil’s double date conclusion had left him, it was nothing compared to the dizzying relief of being wrong. It was made all the more evident when he found that Norm was already wrapped up in another conversation with Gil. It appeared he made his point with Elvis, and just as promptly washed his hands of the fallout. Frankly, Neil was fine with that. It meant no one saw him grin and nudge Todd’s shoe under the table.

He wasn’t sure what Todd was thinking, and he didn’t know if the embarrassment was because he was afraid Neil would think Norm was being serious when he wasn’t, or because Norm’s insinuation was true. The fact that Neil was hoping for the latter should have sent him into a panic, but he felt fine. Better than fine. Fine enough that he could pretend for the time being that there wasn’t any stigma attached to it. Even with the ambiguity of where Todd’s thoughts lay, Neil’s feelings for the boy sat warm and well in his chest.

Todd did make an admirable effort return Neil’s smile but, shaken from the embarrassment, he went mum for a while after. Neil wasn't embarrassed, but he could understand the need to recuperate. He drifted along with the conversation of the other three boys, answering when a question came his way, but the rest of his attention was split between whirling thoughts, and his hyper-awareness of the boy across from him.

As soon as it occurred to him he was wasting precious time with this person who charmed him so, Neil fell back into the moment. He became determined to help Todd do the same.

The problem was figuring out what to say. Todd looked at him when Neil perked up, mouth open and ready to talk, but there was nothing. He’d gone blank, and all he saw was Todd's slate-colored eyes.

“I—” _Please, God Almighty, give me words._ “I think you should see that movie. You might like it.”

To his delight, Todd brightened a little. He opened his mouth to reply just as Edwin asked, “What movie?”

Neil bit back a groan. Todd’s friends were good company, but he couldn’t help wishing they were still across the room.

“ _Harvey,_ ” Todd said.

“My mom loves that one,” Gil commented while cleaning his glasses on his sweater vest.

Edwin snorted. “Your ma loves anything with James Stewart’s name on it.”

“It’s not just that.” Gil slipped his glasses back on. “She likes the message.”

“Oh, sure.” The teasing edge in Edwin’s tone was dulled significantly when he used his sleeve to clear a smudge Gill missed.

Gil murmured a _thank you_ before getting back on track. “She quotes it sometimes. I’m sure you’ve heard it, Eddie. There’s that one line she really likes—about being smart and good. I can’t ever remember it right…”

Neil knew exactly the one he spoke of; it was, in his opinion, the stand-out line of the film. Ever since the first viewing, it sat close to his heart.

In his best impression of Jimmy Stewart, Neil quoted the meat of it: _“Years ago, my mother used to say to me, she’d say, ‘In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart, or oh so pleasant.’ Well for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant.”_

A pensive hush swept across the table until Todd told Neil, “Yeah, I’d like to see that.”

_Do you want to see it with me?_ Neil wanted to say. He hadn’t brought _Harvey_ up again with the intention of asking such a thing, but now it was all he could think of. He felt like he was vibrating with the indecision: to ask, or not to ask? The more he imagined it—borrowing his father’s car, rescuing Todd from a boring evening at Helton, and cruising down to the drive-in theatre for a twilight showing, just the two of them—the less he wanted to entertain the potential consequences. Still, he tried to keep them straight.

He staid his tongue, even as the words were climbing up his throat. As much as he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how Todd would react.

“I wish my mom said those things to me,” said Norm. “It’s always, ‘Norman, straighten your tie,’ ‘Norman, hands out of your pockets,’ ‘Norman, if you don’t quit dragging your feet, I swear—!’”

Gil snickered and checked his watch. “Shoot! We’re all dragging our feet! If we don’t start heading back now, we’ll be late!.”

After a long groan, Edwin stood and stretched. Gil stacked their baskets for the busboy’s convenience, while Norm quaffed the remaining half of his soda.

And Todd—he floundered. He looked at Neil with something akin to panic, eyes wide and lips parted like they were waiting for sound to form. Neil was sure he matched.

Their bodies moved despite them, slipping out of the booth after the other two boys got up.

It could be seen as nothing more than a friendly invitation, right? Todd may take it that way, but if he discovered that Neil was already well smitten with him, and reacted poorly… Then that would be the end of it.

_“Heigh ho! Heigh ho! It’s off to Hell we go!”_ Norm sang. Edwin whistled along.

On his way to the door after Edwin and Gil, Norm detoured to shake Neil’s hand in farewell.

“Good to meet you, Neil. Hope we cross paths again sometime.”

“Under better circumstances, though,” Gil added, and Neil turned around to see him. “Thank you again.”

“Yeah. No problem.” His voice sounded distant.

Norm peered at Todd, then at Neil. With a somewhat disappointed frown, he clapped Todd on the back, and made for his friends by the door.

Todd was helpless to find words—Neil could see it. It seemed he couldn’t even figure out how to say goodbye. Maybe he didn’t want to say it, just like Neil didn’t want to hear it. Unless he took the risk, Neil admitted to himself, this really would be the end of it.

“We’ll miss curfew, Todd,” Norm called, but it was weak.

Todd blinked hard. He nodded, and only moved two steps before Neil stopped him with a touch to the elbow.

“Wait,” Neil said, with only the faintest squeak. “I wanted to ask… Do you think you’d like to see _Harvey_ with me?”

Todd gaped at him with eyes just as wide—but they were relieved, not helpless. At least, not entirely. “I don’t—I mean, I want to, but I don’t know if Dr. Nolan will allow it. I—”

He looked up at Neil, lost once more.

So Neil started over. “Well, do you come here often?” He wanted to smack himself. What a great way to start off an ambiguously ‘friendly’ invitation—use an actual pick up line.

He nearly backtracked, but Todd said, “No. But—but I can! I—the seniors are allowed to come into town like this most days…”

By now, they had revolved so Todd’s back was to his friends at the door. Neil craned around to see the other boys pretending to occupy themselves with a stray newspaper on the last table.

Ignoring their eavesdropping, he asked Todd, “Want to meet for another float?” Gradually, his stomach unknotted. Todd wanted this, too. Whatever it was. “You have to have at least two before you can say for sure that you like it.”

Slow and timid, a smile spread across Todd’s lips. Neil was helpless to its snare, becoming immediately invested in whatever would follow.

“But three’s a pattern,” said Todd.

Neil grinned. “You’re right, we should stick to scientific methods,” he said with a judicious nod. “And if the results say you don’t like it, there’s other flavors to test out. Orange soda, cream soda, 7-Up with sherbet…”

If asked, Neil would swear he could feel Todd’s breathy laugh from his cheeks to his toes. “We might have to test those anyway. They all sound pretty good.”

At that, they finally broke down in whispery giggles over the ludicrous idea. Their gazes fell away, only to meet again with more sobriety. The lovely creases of Todd’s grin sluggishly smoothed away, as if reluctant to go.

Todd beat him to the next step. “So, um. I have all afternoon tomorrow.”

Neil hoped Todd didn’t catch his juddery sigh. “How about two? We’ll skip most of the lunch rush.”

“Good idea. I’m—yes. Great. I’ll be here,” Todd said breathlessly. He showed not an iota of frustration over his fumbling words, and Neil couldn’t be happier.

“Anderson,” Edwin called, one hand planted on the door. The other two boys waited at his side.

Todd nodded. Even from his angle, Neil could see the pressure of being rushed tug at Todd’s brow, but when the boy turned back to find Neil beaming brightly, that distress couldn't keep its purchase on him. He was stunned.

“I’ll, um, see you tomorrow, then,” Todd said after a moment.

“Two o’ clock.”

“Two o’ clock.”

As Todd finally set off after his friends, Neil added, “And don’t wear your uniform!”

The door bells tinkled in their wake. Neil, reeling, watched them pass in the window. Todd stared at the ground as he walked—hands in his pockets, and looking as amazed as Neil felt.

Anyone else would say Neil had just asked Todd on a date. Or they would, if Todd were a girl.

If Todd were a girl, most of their interactions today would be called flirting.

If Todd were a girl.

But Todd wasn't a girl.

Although, neither were Gilbert or Edwin, but that change in Edwin's eyes when he looked at Gil... Neil wasn't sure he’d ever glimpsed a man so satisfied as Edwin in that instant. Their relationship was romantic, plain as day, and they were obviously unconcerned about their shared gender. It was safe to say Todd and Norm were unbothered as well.

Neil sank into the booth by the door, staring through a crinkly water stain in the corner of the newspaper.

He didn't want Todd to have to be a girl. He really liked the way he already was. All he wanted was Todd—

Neil came up short. He expected there to be more, but that was it. All he wanted was Todd. He wanted to talk with Todd, and joke with Todd, and try every scrumptious or sickening combination of soda and ice cream with Todd. He wanted to learn about Todd, and watch _Harvey_ with Todd, and share a malt with Todd; brush his nose against Todd's, with the taste of chocolate on his tongue, and gaze at him across the cup like—

Neil spat out a baffled noise, entirely directed at himself. He put his face in his hands. It was blazing.

"Get a hold of yourself, Perry," he whispered. "Jesus."

It wasn't easy. Not with the ebullient tingles in his mouth muscles, fighting to split his face in a cloud-nine grin. Not with the nervous bounce in his legs, or the dizzy fluttering in his stomach. Not with his mind trying to replay the whole afternoon like a new favorite tune.

Not with the knowledge that, at two o' clock tomorrow, he had a date with Todd Anderson.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to touch on a couple things regarding this story here. Feel free to skip this note. **Regardless, thank you all so very much for reading my story. I hope it brought a little light to your day. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments; they all mean a lot to me. Enjoy your holiday and New Year! Take care!**
> 
> So, I fear this story may be a bit of an out of character mess. For one, keeping characters in-character is pretty tough when your AU involves removing major events and figures from their formative years. Not to mention when you’re a Todd-type personality trying to get into the mind of Neil Perry.
> 
> And then there’s the fact that, although I usually try (believe it or not, and with varying degrees of success) to develop the outward physical attraction and the actual romantic intent at a reasonable pace, especially with a first meeting, my heart wanted to bump it up a notch or two with this one, and because it was _supposed_ to be a quick fic (began it in August), I allowed it. I regret that all these things might make them less in-character, but hopefully it wasn't so egregious that it took you out of the story, or felt like you weren't reading a DPS story at all. I apologize if that is the case. Feel free to tell me about it.
> 
> I comfort myself by thinking that perhaps with this version of Neil being in public school, he has had more opportunity to develop some genuine self-confidence, rather than just the confident act from the film that, prior to the Society's shenanigans, got him through Welton without much trouble.
> 
> Also, I’d like to apologize for the lack of Poets. I couldn't make myself believe that Todd would have gotten into their circle without Neil. I find it hard to believe there would be a circle without Neil. Not one as tight-knit as in canon, anyway. The only one I could see Todd befriending on his own is Cameron, and I love writing the guy, but I was not in the mood to deal with his shit this time.


End file.
